The Last Of the ForgetMeNots
by xxTunstall Chickxx
Summary: 8 One-shot series. Different themes. Tortallan characters. 8 themes that shock the world of 8 Tortallan characters. when life goes upside down. xxTunstall Chickxx
1. FrEeDoM

**8-set drabble series, different themes, not only love.**

**Thank you to my wonderful beta: Tamora Pierce Junior.**

* * *

**_For those who don't know: A Forget-me-not is a five-petaled flower, it can be light pink and white but it's known commonly for its unique blue colour. _**

**_In the 15th century Germany, it was supposed that the wearers of the flower would not be forgotten by their lovers._**

**_Legend has it that in medieval times, a knight and his lady were walking along the side of a river. He picked a posy of flowers, but because of the weight of his armor he fell into the river. As he was drowning he threw the posy to his loved one and shouted "Forget-me-not". This is a flower connected with romance and tragic fate. It was often worn by ladies as a sign of faithfulness and enduring love._**

* * *

-

**--F**_r_**E**_e_**D**_o_**M--**

-

Princesses weren't meant to be happy, to fall in love, to live life as they pleased. They weren't meant to make their own choices, follow their own dreams, do what they wanted to do.

No, a princesses' life was not thus.

Yet, somehow, somewhere, exceptions happen.

But not here, not in this palace, not in this aspect of Tortall.

Yes, Lianne of Conté had been happy, yet, she had cried herself to sleep. Yes, she had fallen in love, and yet, it wasn't meant to be.

The gentle kisses in dark corners, hidden moments, her double life that only she, and him, had known about.

The other night she had cried as she had told him goodbye, that it was over, not by her choice. He had hugged her as she cried and pressed a flower into her palm.

One flower, so belittled in her hands.

Blue petals, a Forget-me-not.

Now, she stood before the old wooden doors, like so many others before, waiting for her future to be decided for her. She walked slowly and steadily down the hundred-steps staircase, one hand gliding elegantly alongside her down the banister.

Her suitor bowed and kissed her hand, the 'perfect' prince her parents had found her. She placed a fake smile upon her plastic face, etched into false happiness.

Bells later she stood on the balcony, looking over the dark rose garden, one tear glided down her face, falling into nothingness.

Her gown was blue and upon her chest was pinned a single flower.

A Forget-me-not.

She was tied down by her duties, and she would cry, she would scream, but she would do as she was meant to do.

The life of a princess.

But she had one way of escape, one route to happiness, real happiness, inside her mind. She had a soul, and that soul remembered, she had memories, of him, memories that let her be who she wanted to be, even if it couldn't last.

Because freedom could be found in memories. And memories could be found inside her.

As she stared at the flower, she remembered those nights, the spirit he had, the moments where he had made her forget who she was, her duties.

One Forget-me not.

One life freed, if only for a moment.

-

* * *

**Here you go. Please review.**

**Two days 'til my BIRTHDAY!!**

**Keep Reading,**

**xxTunstall Chickxx**

**7/09/08**


	2. LiFe

**8-set drabble series, different themes.**

**Thank you to my wonderful beta: Tamora Pierce Junior who did not get a chance to beta this, she will beta it when she has the chance...  
**

* * *

**_For those who don't know: A Forget-me-not is a five-petaled flower, it can be light pink and white but it's known commonly for its unique blue colour. _**

**_In the 15th century Germany, it was supposed that the wearers of the flower would not be forgotten by their lovers._**

**_Legend has it that in medieval times, a knight and his lady were walking along the side of a river. He picked a posy of flowers, but because of the weight of his armor he fell into the river. As he was drowning he threw the posy to his loved one and shouted "Forget-me-not". This is a flower connected with romance and tragic fate. It was often worn by ladies as a sign of faithfulness and enduring love._**

* * *

-

**--L**_i_**F**_e_**--**

-

Life is made up of people, of places, of actions and their opposing reactions. Of feelings, of love and hate, crushes you have, crushes that are crushed. Life is made up of life. Life is made up of Death.

And some lives are better than others.

And some... aren't.

-

Keladry of Mindelan stared forwards, looking but not seeing, on top of a cliff, a dangerous one at that.

A cool, calm, collected Lady Knight, was mentally preparing herself to jump.

Why?

She was a Lady Knight, she had passed training, beaten Blayce, proved girls could fight and inspired many.

So why would she want to jump?

Because she couldn't let people in. A simple, stupid, idiotic reason that seemed to make life not worth living. Not worth being in, not feeling.

A flower flew in the harsh winds, whipped around, it blew over to a cliff where a young woman stood. She jumped straight up and caught it delicately between two fingers.

A Forget-me-not.

And in that moment Kel felt like a flower, not beautiful, nor graceful, but alone.

So alone.

Because yes, she had friends, admirers, tutors, family, but she always kept them out, an arm's length away. She loved them but they'd never know.

Down below lay the abyss, she saw the raging river, even if she somehow survived the fall, the perilous waters would drag her down anyways.

All for what?

Because one is the loneliest number.

She felt so alone, so alien, different, strange, and she knew that one day she would be capable of loving, but no-one would be capable of loving her back.

Suddenly her sisters' harsh words from when they were kids flashed back. She looked like a cow.

Stupid right? They had been kids, bit she hadn't changed, not really, not much anyways.

She wasn't beautiful, or graceful, or fragile.

She was happy to be a Lady Knight, but she was a misfit, nothing more to it. At least the Lioness had found someone.

She stared at the pit below.

Life or Death?

She was alone, so utterly alone, and the prospect of being alone forever canceled everything else out.

She stared at the Forget-me-not one last time.

Suddenly, images sprang into her mind.

She saw Neal, hugging her shoulders, Yuki sipping tea, Dom laughing cheerfully, infectively.

The Lioness, proud on the day of Kel's knighting. Roald. Cleon. Merric. Owen. Seaver. Faleron. Lalasa. The refugees. Tobe.

Third Company. Raoul. They were her friends.

There were still people who cared.

She lifted her arms, stretched them their full length and opened her closed fists. The Forget-me-not was picked up by the wind and carried away. She watched it disappear, go comfort another lost soul.

Life or Death?

The flower flew away, swaying, dwindling, rising and falling with the gusts of wind. The answer blowing in the wind.

One Forget-me-not. One answer.

Life.

* * *

**Here you go. Please review.**

**IT'S MY BIRTHDAY! I'M 14!!**

**_I wasn't going to post this until it was beta-ed but I really wanted to celebrate my birthday..._**

**Keep Reading,**

**xxTunstall Chickxx**

**9/09/08**

.


	3. DeAtH

**8-set drabble series, different themes.**

**Thank you to my wonderful beta: Tamora Pierce Junior. Who is so amazing and yet I hate her 'cause she's on vacation. Let's all send her hate messages. :) Just kidding. Happy Holidays!  
**

* * *

**_For those who don't know: A Forget-me-not is a five-petaled flower, it can be light pink and white but it's known commonly for its unique blue colour. _**

**_In the 15th century Germany, it was supposed that the wearers of the flower would not be forgotten by their lovers._**

**_Legend has it that in medieval times, a knight and his lady were walking along the side of a river. He picked a posy of flowers, but because of the weight of his armor he fell into the river. As he was drowning he threw the posy to his loved one and shouted "Forget-me-not". This is a flower connected with romance and tragic fate. It was often worn by ladies as a sign of faithfulness and enduring love._**

* * *

-

**--D**_e_**A**_t_**H--**

-

Life has a circle, a very plain circle. A circle that never, ever, ends.

And each civilization since the dawn of time has been a pawn in that never-ending circle.

We live. We kill. We die. The end.

Life is normal, death is normal.

Everybody knows that, and yet, that never makes it any easier.

--

He knew her job was dangerous, he also knew that she was good, very, very good. One of the best, if not_ the _best. But her job was not all skill, mostly, but not all.

It had been a year, exactly one, since his Lioness had fallen in battle and he had gone home to tell his, their, children that they no longer had a mother.

Alan had returned to Pirate's Swoop immediately, Aly had taken the fastest ship and Thom had taken time off from his studies at the university. They had mourned together.

Now, a year later, he looked upon the plain, the field, covered in flowers, where his wife lay buried. Resting for eternity.

It had been a very long year indeed.

Corus still mourned the loss of their hero, all of Tortall did. Many missed her skill, but many missed her fiery temper, her blunt beauty, her sweet candor as she wielded her sword and chopped down her foes. They missed _her_.

She lay in her eternal sleep, under many a row of Forget-me-nots.

So beautiful a sight to look at, so... natural.

Yes, he knew her job was dangerous, there was always a risk, but subconsciously he had believed her invincible. He loved her too much to die anyways.

He had given everything up for her, turned noble, respectable.

Once upon many a year he had been George Cooper, king of the Rogue. Now, he was Baron George Cooper, master of Pirate's Swoop. A different man.

A long time ago, he was a leader, cold and ruthless when he had to be, helping the thieves of the street. He had been teased when she came around, the king sighing over a lady!

If only they had known, if only.

He had loved her, pined for her, sacrificed himself for her. She had loved him back, she had given him three children, three children he could aught but be proud of. It had been completely worth it.

He turned away, lost in thought.

Many had loved her, her friends, her children, Jon, himself, many, many, many.

And yet, many had hated her, and that had made her stronger.

He missed her, on cold winter nights his bed had never felt so empty. He missed her scowl, her smile, her sweet-talk, her yelling.

And he still wore black, in mourning for the love of his life, his beautiful wife.

George knew she had died fighting, like she would've wanted to, but he regretted never having said 'goodbye'. And her, never having said goodbye to her children, to anybody really.

He turned back around and gazed forward, lost in thought.

Many thoughts actually.

A single tear rolled down his cheek and fell.

Live, kill, die. Repeat.

A vast field of unyielding Forget-me-nots.

And the cycle continues.

Death.

* * *

**Here you go. Please review.**

**I was going to get this up on Sunday but I had to go get my bracelet.**

**A bracelet? Why?**

**Well, my free ticket to meeting CHRISTOPHER PAOLINI. C'mon, author of Eragon, Eldest and Brisingr, which came out Saturday? I get 2 books signed by him. On Monday.  
**

**(!!)**

**Well, I thought it was cool anyways.**

**--**

**Keep Reading,**

**xxTunstall Chickxx**

**21/09/08**


	4. HoPe

**8-set drabble series, different themes.**

**Thank you to my wonderful beta: Tamora Pierce Junior. Who rocks. Everybody.  
**

* * *

**_For those who don't know: A Forget-me-not is a five-petaled flower, it can be light pink and white but it's known commonly for its unique blue colour. _**

**_In the 15th century Germany, it was supposed that the wearers of the flower would not be forgotten by their lovers._**

**_Legend has it that in medieval times, a knight and his lady were walking along the side of a river. He picked a posy of flowers, but because of the weight of his armor he fell into the river. As he was drowning he threw the posy to his loved one and shouted "Forget-me-not". This is a flower connected with romance and tragic fate. It was often worn by ladies as a sign of faithfulness and enduring love._**

* * *

-

**--H**_o_**P**_e_**--**

-

You dream.

Of love. Of Hope. Of a plenty life.

You have nightmares, you wake up and continue your day.

But what about the people who aren't you? How do they dream? what do they dream?

What about the lesser-people? Whose entire life is dedicated to dreams, one particular dream to say the truth.

Have you ever dreamed of freedom?

Of seeing the ones you loved, and still love, again?

Do you dream of mothers and fathers, wishing they hadn't sold you?

You dream.

But do you?

What about those people?

The slaves.

Well, they dream too.

--

Selina stood in front of the fish-sellers stand, not that she was buying, she was too busy dreaming, praying, hoping.

This wasn't out of the ordinary for the little girl dressed in rags, she was a slave, and a slave's life was too dream. Always dream, always.

Because when a slave stops dreaming, they give up hope, and when they give up hope, what do they have to live for? When a slave stops dreaming, they stop living.

-

"Move it wench!"

She didn't even flinch anymore as she felt the resounding slap of a hand against flesh, as she fell into the dirt. A bright red hand print upon her cheek.

She merely stood up and lowered her gaze, staring intently at her master's feet. Willing herself not to cry.

She didn't have s collar, for that she was grateful, she (the master's evil wife) had taken pity on her, deciding that a little runt like her wouldn't run away, having indeed nowhere to go. No home. No family. Yes, Selina was grateful, and yet, she didn't really feel all that special.

There was a small flower on the floor, she bent and picked it up, she gasped, it was a Forget-me-not. Pain, anger, hurt -incredible hurt- hit her like a tonne of rotting flesh. It was the same kind of flower her mother had given her before they were separated.

Hope--her mother had said, there is always hope.

So that is what Selina did, she hoped. She held onto the flower, in the dirt-packed market, and hoped.

She dreamed of a better life. Sometimes even of the place called Tortall.

She had heard of Tortall, it sounded like a place that couldn't really exist.

One Forget-me-not.

She cleaned, she scrubbed, she did everything for her masters, she washed and swept along with all the other serving girls. Selina was eleven and she could have been pretty, but her bright blue eyes were rimmed with dirt.

Golden hair tangled into knots.

Her masters didn't care, water cost nobles and nobles didn't come by easily.

Selina had always dreamed that her mother would come back for her, to free her, that they'd run away and be happy together.

She used to imagine being rich, now she didn't care, now she just wanted her moma.

She smiled at the flower in her hands, cheeks upturned into a smile.

She had a plan.

Next time a ship came to harbor, she would figure out a way to make them take her along. They had to.

Her eyes shined with happiness, sparkling azure tears leaving clear tracks on her muddy cheeks.

They had to, because she would die if she stayed here.

Dusk broke, spilling sunrays upon the sleeping harbor.

And Selina was there, ready to leaver her life, and the Copper Isles, behind. She clutched the Forget-me-not tight in her small, underfed hands.

Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped.

One Forget-me-not.

Hope.

Tortallan ships on the horizon.

* * *

**Here you go. Please review.**

**And yes, meeting Christopher Paolini was amazing, and yet I stayed in line for three and a half hours and didn't see his presentation. But he signed Eldest and Brisingr, and he asked me if I liked his books. It's kinda creepy 'cause he really looks like my dad did when he was younger. Eeps!**

**Thank you for asking!**

**And we beat New York in numbers cause we had over 1200 people. In one bookstore.**

**--**

**Keep Reading,**

**xxTunstall Chickxx**

**26/09/08**


	5. PaIn

**8-set drabble series, different themes.**

**Thank you to my wonderful beta: Tamora Pierce Junior. Who rocks.  
**

* * *

**_For those who don't know: A Forget-me-not is a five-petaled flower, it can be light pink and white but it's known commonly for its unique blue colour._**

**_-  
_**

**_In the 15th century Germany, it was supposed that the wearers of the flower would not be forgotten by their lovers._**

**_Legend has it that in medieval times, a knight and his lady were walking along the side of a river. He picked a posy of flowers, but because of the weight of his armor he fell into the river. As he was drowning he threw the posy to his loved one and shouted "Forget-me-not". This is a flower connected with romance and tragic fate. It was often worn by ladies as a sign of faithfulness and enduring love._**

* * *

-

**--P**_a_**I**_n_**--**

-

When you think of pain, what comes into your mind? You see knives and swords, arrows and axes, you see broken bones and fractured skulls.

When you think of pain, you think of deep hurt, a gaping wound from which you slowly bleed to death.

When you think of pain, you see things you don't like to see. Things you'd rather never see in your life.

And when you think of dungeons, you think of torture, of murderers with matted hair and missing teeth.

What we fail to see at times, is that pain can be emotional. Not all who are imprisoned are necessarily bad, or were ever bad people. Often times, that person that haunts your nightmares is no more than any civilian who has made a mistake. A person with family and friends. A person no different from you and me.

And sometimes, that is all they truly have.

-

Whipping, lashing, beating, biting.

Pain, so much pain.

He didn't mind though, he was not ashamed of his crime as others told him he should be, he didn't bow his head in submission, he didn't scream for them to spare him. He kept his head high, his voice firm, he kept the fire in his eyes going. Because he was not ashamed, and he was not sorry.

His neck cracked as he whipped his head to the side, the usual silence punctured by the distant sound of footsteps. The bars to his cell were drawn back and three guards clad in the royal colours grabbed him gruffly.

He squirmed with discomfort as they surfaced him to the light, to a brilliantly lit hallway after two years of never-ending darkness. He had missed the light.

He asked vainly where they were taking him, unsurprisingly, he got no response. They remained impassive, silently blinking, footfalls echoing off the marble floors, puncturing ever so slightly the stillness of the air.

He kept his head up, he wasn't afraid, nothing could hurt him anymore.

Nothing at all.

Except this.

They let him into a plain white room, one window high up was the only source of sunlight. He felt the air leave his body, his world shrink, focusing solely on the two females in the room. The two stood on the far end of the room, watching him, not uttering a sound.

"Mary?" He whispered, looking at the little girl with the bouncing blonde curls, her face lighting instantly with a big smile.

"Dada!" She ran straight into his outstretched arms. "I brought you a flower!"

She gave him a little flower, a delicate shade of blue, five petals.

A Forget-me-not.

The man took the flower but he continued to stare at the woman, she had yet to speak.

"Wh--"

"We're leaving." The woman didn't look at him, training her eyes to stare just past his shoulders. Staring at Mary and then looking away. Never to his face.

His voice was a barely audible whisper: "You said you'd wait..."

"I can't wait forever." She stared at the flower now, still avoiding him. He had to strain to hear her voice, it was muffled and very quiet.

"Goodbye." She gently tugged Mary out of his arms, they went limp to his sides.

"Bye Dada." Mary called jovially behind her, she didn't know, she was too young to understand. He stood still, even after he heard the door close, leaving him alone with his guards. Tears made their silent trek down his cheeks.

The guards hauled him back into his chamber in the dungeon, he didn't care, he was too numb to care.

He was in too much pain.

He lay on the cold stone floor, gripping the flower, his only memory, his last connection to sanity.

"I'm sorry." He whispered to no one.

And he was.

He closed his eyes for what would be his last time.

His chest rose and fell, rose and fell, rose and fell. It didn't rise again.

One apology.

One Forget-me-not.

Pain.

* * *

**Here you go. Please review.**

**--**

**Keep Reading,**

**xxTunstall Chickxx**

**30/09/08**


	6. LoVe

**8-set drabble series, different themes.**

**Thank you to my wonderful beta: Tamora Pierce Junior. Who's amazing.  
**

* * *

**_For those who don't know: A Forget-me-not is a five-petaled flower, it can be light pink and white but it's known commonly for its unique blue colour._**

**_-  
_**

**_In the 15th century Germany, it was supposed that the wearers of the flower would not be forgotten by their lovers._**

**_Legend has it that in medieval times, a knight and his lady were walking along the side of a river. He picked a posy of flowers, but because of the weight of his armor he fell into the river. As he was drowning he threw the posy to his loved one and shouted "Forget-me-not". This is a flower connected with romance and tragic fate. It was often worn by ladies as a sign of faithfulness and enduring love._**

* * *

-

**--L**_o_**V**_e_**--**

-

Love gives us courage.

Courage makes us fools.

Love is a form of sacrifice, we give everything to it, for it. We abandon ourselves, lose everything in hot pursuit. But gods forbid we might lose that person. Gods forbid.

Many do foolish things for love,

Some even die for it.

And some, die for people who can't love them back.

-

He had seen a great deal many things in his life as a wandering warrior. He had met a great deal many people.

But none quite like her.

She loved many, unsure of just how much, scared of commitment, and yet yearning it, she loved him, she loved a thief, she loved the king.

All of them loved her back.

He knew he was going to die, he had known it by many a year, he had been told so by a Carthaki fortune teller who had blessed him as she passed, told him his future in a light, faint, raspy voice.

He knew, and he would like to believe he did it for Tortall, but he was an honest man, and about this he would not lie, not even to himself. He had done it for her.

Those nights, so many weeks ago, had been the best of his life and even though he knew they could never be, he never stopped loving her.

She wielded magic, he was man enough to admit that scared him, but with time, he believed he could get past that difference. With a lot of time.

A lot of time he didn't have.

He stood now in the midst of a battle, having a hard time distinguishing friend from foe.

He had seen her run off, he had followed, through dozens of hallways he chased after her, wanting to protect her, but now he stood with her thief friend, and he knew he could not abandon him.

The thief held the jewel.

Ironic that a thief would give the jewel back to its owner, or die trying. Ironic indeed.

He bashed heads, landing kicks to some unsuspecting victims, satisfied the job was done, he continued to help the thief.

Now the king held the jewel, powerful magic emanating from his glowing blue hands.

Magic, the thing he could not stand, but this time he knew, he knew that without magic, this battle was lost. Before it had really even begun.

He felt them before he saw them

Archers.

Aimed for the king.

Alanna loved this man, ruler of Tortall, she loved him deeply.

And Liam loved her.

He fingered the charm around the necklace on his neck. The charm was a flower he had gotten once from a little girl he had helped, he treasured it, looked up to it for help. It gave him strength.

A Forget-me-not.

Today he would die for love.

He held the Forget-me not and suddenly her face flashed into his head, smiling happily, laughing. The image spurned him, propelled him forwards. Before the king.

With a savage cry he roared as he stood before the man that held Tortall's future.

He felt the first impact, and the second, and the next. The Tortallan archers picked off the enemy ones off as he took their arrows. They finally ended. Twelve. Twelve arrows.

He grinned and roared again.

"I am Liam Ironarm." He roared and then toppled over into the dirt.

That day he died for love.

-

Love gives us courage.

Courage makes us fools.

Fools are often heroes.

One heart.

One Forget-me-not.

Love.

* * *

**Here you go. Please review.**

**Ugh. Got a detention tomorrow and lots of homework.**

**Only two left!! And it's cold. we'll be having 3 degrees tomorrow, fun, fun, fun.  
**

**--**

**Keep Reading,**

**xxTunstall Chickxx**

**2/10/08**


	7. BrOkEn HeArT

**8-set drabble series, different themes.**

**Thank you to my wonderful beta: Tamora Pierce Junior. Who's amazing. For real.**

**And please, I do something horrible in this chapter, please, please, please don't kill me...**

**Gone to Pittsburgh this long weekend (thanksgiving), so you wont hear from me for a little bit. I'll probably have the last one up within the end of the coming week though...**

**And please, do not kill me...**

* * *

**_For those who don't know: A Forget-me-not is a five-petaled flower, it can be light pink and white but it's known commonly for its unique blue colour._**

**_-  
_**

**_In the 15th century Germany, it was supposed that the wearers of the flower would not be forgotten by their lovers._**

**_Legend has it that in medieval times, a knight and his lady were walking along the side of a river. He picked a posy of flowers, but because of the weight of his armor he fell into the river. As he was drowning he threw the posy to his loved one and shouted "Forget-me-not". This is a flower connected with romance and tragic fate. It was often worn by ladies as a sign of faithfulness and enduring love._**

* * *

-

**--B**_r_**O**_k_**E**_n_** H**_e_**A**_r_**T****--**

-

Like that glass vase, perched perilously on the edge of table, like the ceramic doll that falls out of the child's unsuspecting hand.

Like the sound of a cracking bone, shattered shards of pottery, broken figurines.

Like all that is fragile, things break.

And so do hearts.

-

He didn't understand, it hurt so much, there was so much pain. Was he dying?

He was too young to die.

He was but a hatchling, new to the world, he had barely seen it, he hadn't had enough time with his Aly.

He couldn't... die.

Before, as a bird, dying had never been a big problem, it was part of life, it just --happened.

But now, he was human, whom wore their hearts on their sleeves, whom passed from mate to mate. And he had felt something wondrous, something life changing, these humans called it love.

For Aly, now Aly Crow, he liked how that sounded. And he loved her.

But he hadn't been with her enough.

He couldn't die.

He had fought alongside her, he hadn't expected it, but like a hawk, that blade of startling steel had flown low and fast towards him.

Catching him like it's prey, like a mouse in an open field.

He had never seen it coming, how strange.

No time to dive for a hole.

And then there was pain, so much pain...

Everything swam and he had fallen, the impact with the ground had hurt, he wasn't used to it, he usually landed so lightly.

But it hurt so much.

Was he dying?

Where was Aly? His mate, his soul, his life. His Aly?

Where was she?

Ah, he could see her now, she fought, so beautiful and deadly, knives darting in and out of her hand, twisting, parrying, cutting.

Moving like a blur, but he followed her every movement.

She was just the right speed for him.

Her eyes swept to him, they softened.

Yes, she had seen him, she would help him. She would make the pain end.

He saw a tear slip from her eyes, and then, then she turned away.

What? Why?

The pain increased, he wasn't sure if it was from the wound or from something else.

And then, all went black, all felt black.

He didn't, what had--

He wasn't human enough for this, water poured from his eyes, he didn't know what it was. He wasn't--

He--

He couldn't--

He didn't understand.

And then, he slept.

-

Aly finally turned away from her battle, she couldn't afford to stop protecting Dove, she was her duty. Besides, Nawat was fine.

The battle had finally ended and she made her way to her beloved husband.

She stooped to find a flower, how strange, un-trampled by the battle, perfectly preserved. How strange.

It was blue, it reminded her of Nawat's innocence, his big loving eyes, so beautiful.

A Forget-me-not.

And then she gasped, air leaving her lungs, she crashed onto her knees beside him, she shook him.

"Nawat! Nawat!"

But there was no answer, tears cloaked unchecked down her cheeks, he wasn't coming back.

It was her fault, he wouldn't be here if it wasn't for her. She should have helped him before, she didn't realize he was badly hurt.

She had chosen Dove over him.

She pressed the flower into his cold hands, and closed them around it. Chocking on her racking sobs, she watched as her husband held the flower, face etched into a mask of pain. And the pain was all her fault.

She loved him more than anything. And he had died without knowing that.

-

Things break all the time, and we weep tears for them, but eventually we forget them.

We move on,

After all, we can live without them.

And some people discuss, is a broken heart better than no heart at all?

But broken hearts stay forever, even in the land of the dead.

And they remain broken, because no matter how many times you move on, you never, ever forget.

And it hurts so much.

Things break, and sometimes, we break with them.

He had died a broken man.

No --Aly was what made him human, and he had died without her.

He had died a broken crow.

-

Gone forever. Torn to pieces.

One misunderstanding.

One Forget-me-not.

One broken heart.

Never to mend again.

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**Yes, I killed off Nawat, and I broke his heart, I'm sorry. Please don't kill me.**

**Pretty long, eh? About a thousand...**

**Here you go.**

**Only one left!**

**Review!**

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**I'm proud to announce that this story has been so popular that I've decided to make a sequel. **

**The title will be: And Spring Will Come Again.**

**8 more drabbles. Your reviews make it happen. never stop, they are the fuel to my engine.**

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**Keep Reading,**

**xxTunstall Chickxx**

**10/10/08**


	8. FaItH

**8-set drabble series, different themes.**

**Thank you to my wonderful beta: ****Tamora Pierce Junior. Who's the best thing that ever happened to this story.**

**Nobody dies in this one, promise!**

**I'm sorry if I do not get the faith part right, I apologize in advance. I'm not religious, actually, I'm the opposite, just read the bottom later, but I did my best and tried to respect all. So, if this offends you in any way, I apologize.**

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**_For those who don't know: A Forget-me-not is a five-petaled flower, it can be light pink and white but it's known commonly for its unique blue colour._**

**_-  
_**

**_In the 15th century Germany, it was supposed that the wearers of the flower would not be forgotten by their lovers._**

**_Legend has it that in medieval times, a knight and his lady were walking along the side of a river. He picked a posy of flowers, but because of the weight of his armor he fell into the river. As he was drowning he threw the posy to his loved one and shouted "Forget-me-not". This is a flower connected with romance and tragic fate. It was often worn by ladies as a sign of faithfulness and enduring love._**

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-

**--F**_a_**I**_t_**H****--**

-

When you lose everything, what do you have left?

When life leaves you hanging, what have you left to live for?

And maybe, you don't believe, but then again, now, what have you left to lose?

Considering you have nothing...

And so, humble and honest, you take to worshiping the gods you have never met, hardly believe in, but because they're all you have left, you pray, pray for many things, pray for change.

Because, when you have already lost everything, what do you have left?

--Opinions, belief, faith.

-

The temple was cool in the chilly December air. Mithran priests, walking around in their draping robes, layers upon layers, to keep the warm in. He doubted that they really helped much.

Some bucktoothed townsfolk were at the base of the shrine, the Mithran priests scowled at their badly adorned demeanor but made no move to throw them out.

The poor beggars spoke with crooked civilian's teeth. They mumbled prayers, or what they could hope came close to one, see, these people, they couldn't read, never learned to speak properly except few words that have to do with selling and begging. So, they tried to pray with what they could. The result? Catastrophic.

But they held hope in their hearts, hope that Mithros would save them.

He snorted, Mithros was a god, and if, and he meant the 'if', he existed, he wouldn't waste time on the civilians. Nobody did.

They would have more luck praying to themselves, not that they ever listened either, they were too Noble to even look at us. They tossed us coins every once in a while, like we were nothing filthy on the edge of the street, that would just leave if they gave us a measly copper.

Because one copper could definitely feed a family a feast. I was tempted to spit on the floor, but I received the deadliest look I have ever gotten in my life, by one of the priests, and thought better of it.

I don't sound like a man from the lower city slums, do I? Well, that's because I'm not, believe it if you will, but I was a noble, from birth. Whom chose a woman and his love for Corus and real people, over a life with stuck-up men and women, with stuffy clothing, always dying on the inside from perspiration. Whom stuff themselves at galas, dripping oil from their portly mouths. I was sickened by it. And I fell in love, with the poor, with the _real_ people.

When it was my turn before the mighty golden shrine, I blinked, staring at it. What could I offer it? I had no wealth, not even a family. My wife and only son were dead, I was left with nothing. A house, but what would Mithros do with that? What had I to offer that was worth more than the labored coppers of the men from the city, than the greasy nobles from the rich?

What could beat the hedge witches' herbs?

What made _me_ special?

Dejected, I left the temple and made my way through the usual crowded streets of Tortall's capital.

I was a worker, who could work until I bled, until I died, before I ever saw a noble again.

And we worked our entire lives, most of us married, had children, and then drowned our sorrow (and worked money) in hot-blood wine.

Not me, but most.

We bled, we sweated, we died.

He didn't understand though, why men with wives and children, men with families, why no one gave a shit about them.

Why the oh-so-wonderful king and queen, upon their high seats, self-elected voices of the people, why they didn't care. They were _supposed_ to care, so why didn't they?

We are the workers, the lowest class, and always will be.

Rage burned through me, but why was I so surprised? This had been going on for years. _Centuries_. It isn't, and never will be, a surprise.

Lost in the labyrinth of thoughts, I wandered, finding myself in the middle of nowhere, were had Corus gone?

I looked around, startled, I was in an empty clearing, covered in a soft mantle of snow. Everything was white, well, almost everything.

Something caught my eye, right in the middle of this clearing was a flower, a simple flower, unperturbed by the white, it shone clearly, it's blue petals unwavering but not frozen. Winter had already descended upon Tortall, all flowers were frozen. This was the last of the flowers.

How strange.

I bent down beside it, it was a five-petaled flower.

A Forget-me-not.

The last one.

It was special though, something was definitely different about it, this was it, this is what I would donate to Mithros.

A ray of sunshine fell upon it, illuminating it even more against the contrasting monotone whiteness that surrounded it.

I picked it up, tugging it gently out of the earth with two practiced fingers, the sky suddenly cleared, startled I started to run, not sure exactly in what direction, but somewhere far away from the mysterious clearing, the Forget-me-not tucked into my chest.

Stopping, I realized I was in Corus, and I was scared to say the least, this was far too bizarre.

I stepped before the shrine, and placed the small flower before it.

The shrine flared, golden light bathing the temple. The priests all gasped, falling to the ground, I was spooked, but still not sure whether I _believed_.

This _had_ to be a coincidence.

The priests started to chant, strong voices singing in what was not a language I knew. I stepped towards the shrine, placing my hand upon the golden Mithros' heart.

I murmured quietly.

"I am the people, I am the workers. Give me hope, I give ye faith."

The intensity of the light heightened, it flared brighter than before, I closed my eyes but the light still shone through, I felt no heat.

"I give ye faith!" I yelled.

The light shone brighter, and I had hope. Maybe, just maybe there was a future for us, maybe, just maybe, gods existed, and they looked after us, like the people who were supposed to, but didn't.

And maybe, just maybe, something would change.

The light dimmed, I cracked my eyes open and then opened them fully, before me was the Forget-me-not. With a small golden glow surrounding it. It hovered in the air before me.

I cupped my hands under it.

"I give ye faith." My voice a barely audible whisper.

The light disappeared and slowly, very slowly, the flower floated down, and then all ended. The air seemed to move again. the flower rested in my palm and I closed my fingers around it gently.

This was the first day of a new era.

Winter was here, flowers were gone, but I held the last one.

The workers would_ rise_ again, we would _live_ again. We would have a_ voice._

_The last one...  
_

One voice.

Faith.

The last of the Forget-me-nots.

**--****T_H_****E _E_****N_D_****--**

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--

**Okay, I apologize again for the working-class rant. I'm an atheist communist, so I did my best, do not bug me about it.**

**I can't believe it's over. Wow, I really loved writing this series, and you were all very supportive of it. Thank you, thank you so much. And thank you so much to my beta; Tamora Pierce Junior. I hope you'll all give the sequel a chance: And Spring Will Come Again.**

**And I hope TPJ will put up with me a little more. You help, you inspire, you're amazing. Thank you.**

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**Keep Reading,**

**xxTunstall Chickxx**

**18/10/08**


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